


the way i see you under strings of light

by CallMeBombshell



Series: in all these ways we come together [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, accidental date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeBombshell/pseuds/CallMeBombshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim keeps catching glimpses of Jason everywhere; paying for popcorn, in line for the bumper cars, talking to the attendant at the beanbag toss. It’s like they’re circling each other, and it seems like every time Tim turns, Jason’s there on the periphery. He doesn’t seem to have seen Tim yet, always with his back turned or people between them or, once, Tim up on the ferris wheel with Kon on one side and Steph on the other, looking down and picking Jason out of the crowd by the way he moved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way i see you under strings of light

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [于斑斓光影之中 / the way i see you under strings of light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/967454) by [blurryyou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blurryyou/pseuds/blurryyou)



> huge thanks as always to Sam for being my cheerleader and beta and generally supporting my flailing and capslocking :D you're the best, darling <3

When Tim was seven, the Drakes’ housekeeper and Tim’s part-time nanny, Ms. Archulo, took him to the fair. Gotham’s annual Summer Fair is held at the end of August, when the days have started cooling just the tiniest bit, but the nights are still warm. It’s set up in a large, mostly-unused parking lot tucked in between the Gotham Knights stadium and the botanic gardens, a large swath of empty pavement, nothing but grass between the cracks in the asphalt and a few abandoned cars which get hauled off by the city.

The first hint, for those who’ve forgotten about the fair in the last year and those who are keeping an eye out for it this year, is the small fleet of large trucks which converge on the parking lot, vans and pickups and trailers, flatbeds hauling shipping containers, others hauling strangely-shaped forms covered in canvas and plastic sheeting. Then suddenly, overnight it seems, the rides go up.

There’s the great green rollercoaster called the Dragon, the soaring ferris wheel called the Gotham Eye, the Whirling Dervish with it’s five arms and spinning, rainbow-colored cars. There’s the high tower drop, the Screaming Heights, orange flames up it’s sides, the spinning silver monstrosity of the Rock ‘N Roller, the Rococo-painted swings of the Swinging Sisters.

And then the small maze of smaller attractions starts sprouting up in between, the bumper car arena, the climbing wall, Arcade Lane with it’s double row of games, shooters and throwers and pinwheels, stuffed-animal prizes bursting from the narrow stall walls. The small stage goes up on the near end, the bigger one at the far end, speaker mounts framing low wooden platforms.

Last to go up are the food stalls, vendor carts parked here and there, closed up tight until the fair opens, but their signs clearly visible: popcorn and candycorn, blue and pink cotton candy, funnel cakes with powdered sugar, hotdogs and corndogs and giant pretzels.

The first night, the fair opens at dusk, lights all coming on at once, blinding and brilliantly colored, tracing the lines of the rides and strung between the stalls. The music begins, floating above the crowd as it surges forward through the gates and fanning out, some racing to be first in line for the rides, others going for the food vendors, still others trying their luck at being the first to win a prize in the arcade.

It’s every bit as magical as Tim remembers, and moreso now, seeing it anew with eyes that have become so used to darkness, hearing it with ears fine-tuned for silence. Standing in the middle of the grounds, surrounded on all sides by light and noise and shrieks of laughter, excitement and amusement palpable on the air, Tim stops for a moment, just to close his eyes and breathe.

It feels nothing at all like Gotham.

  
  


It’s pure coincidence that he’s here tonight, really. He’d had plans to hang out with Kon, the first time in ages that they’d both been able to take the same night off and do something fun. They’d been looking up movie times on Tim’s laptop when Steph had barged in, all bouncing excitement and the air of a woman who was absolutely going to get her way and said, “We’re going to the fair, Timmy-boy, and _you_ are going to have oodles and oodles of fun.”

Then she’d noticed Kon, stared for a moment, and then heaved a giant sigh and said, “I suppose alien-boy can come, too.”

Which is how Tim found himself out on the street at just past eight, Kon on one side and Steph with her arm linked in his on the other, strolling down sidewalks full of people all headed towards the fair a few blocks away. It’s not lit up yet when they get there, the gate still closed and people milling about in front of it, but from the way Steph’s been checking her watch every few minutes, it’s got to be soon.

No sooner has Tim thought it than there’s a bright flash, the lights all coming on at once, brilliant and rainbow colored; the band set up on the stage just inside starts playing, and the gates roll back, letting the cheering crowd start streaming in.

The moment they get inside, Steph is practically wrenching his arm off, trying to drag him away towards the rollercoaster. At his other side, Kon’s practically vibrating with the need to rush off and see everything right this minute, giant grin spread across his face and he spins around, eyes wide, taking everything in.

“Come on!” Steph says, bubbly and excited. “If we run, we can get to the Dragon before anyone else does!”

Tim rolls his eyes, but acquiesces to her insistent tugging. Kon bounces on his toes and follows after.

“I always liked rollercoasters,” he muses.

Steph raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “You can fly, though.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same at all,” Kon says, earnest. “It’s like...okay, when I’m flying, it’s sort of like swimming. You’ve gotta move your body kind of the same way, for aerodynamics and all that. But rollercoasters, man,” he grins. “You’re totally not in control of that. You’re just strapped in and hanging on for the ride.”

They’re not quite the first in line when they get there, but they manage to snag the third car back, Tim and Steph in front and Kon stretched out behind them. Tim can’t help his grin as they start the slow, clunking crawl towards the top of the first hill, staring down at the people milling about below. There’s a pause at the very top, and then they’re tipping, speeding down the hill in a clatter and a rush of wind.

Steph throws her hands in the air and whoops loudly; behind him, Tim can hear Kon’s laughter, bright and booming. He grins, throws his head back, and watches the tracks fly by above his head.

  
  


They run into trouble at the skee-ball booth.

Or rather, Kon runs into trouble in the form of Steph’s apparently-unbroken record at the skee-ball booth.

“Ten bucks says I score higher than you do,” he says, assessing the set-up.

Steph’s smirk is just this side of dangerous. She stands with her hands on her hips and raises one eyebrow, looking him up and down. “Yeah, sorry, alien-boy. Not gonna happen.”

Kon turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in return. “You sure about that?”

Steph makes a show of pretending to think, fingers tapping at her chin for a moment. “Let me see… Yup. Totally sure.”

“You should really listen to her, dude,” the guy manning the booth says. “She always wins.” The guy shifts slightly in the cramped space, turning to gesture over his shoulder where there’s a framed photo of…

“Is that _you?_ ” Kon asks, eyebrows jumping disbelievingly. “Dude, how old are you, you look like you’re about ten.”

“Nine, actually,” Steph says smugly.

“I’ve been coming here every single year,” Steph tells them, “literally since I was born. This is my freakin’ _court_ , boys, and I am the god damn _queen_ of skee-ball.”

Kon blinks, one eyebrow arching comically high on his forehead as he stares at Steph. Tim rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. Because he’s seen Steph’s aim, seen her lob wads of paper into the trashcan across the room at Babs’ place without even looking. She’s good.

“She’s got the record, man,” the attendant agrees. “She’s held it for years. My boss put her picture up ages ago ‘cos no one could beat her. Said it was good press. _Beat the local legend!_ , you know? There’s even a reward and everything, fifty bucks if you can score higher.”

Kon squints at the picture, then at Steph, assessing. Then he grins, all confidence. “I take it back. _Fifty_ bucks says I score higher than you.”

Steph grins, sharp and bright, and puts her hands out, cracking her knuckles. “Your loss, alien-boy. You’re on.”

  
  


Twenty minutes later, Kon still hasn’t managed to get rid of the absolutely flabbergasted expression on his face.

“I don’t—” he starts, shaking his head. “How did she—?”

Tim reaches over and pats his back sympathetically. “It’s Steph. She’s kind of a badass. You get used to it.”

Up ahead, Steph is skipping along, giant wad of prize tickets clutched in one hand, giant stuffed dragon in the other.

“She cheated,” Kon says faintly, staring at her. “She had to have. I don’t know how, but she cheated.”

Tim watches Steph wind between two women with strollers, spinning around to wave at them and point exaggeratedly at the cotton candy stand up ahead.

“Well, she does have some pretty good training,” he points out.

“She has training,” Kon repeats faintly, turning to look at Tim. His eyes are a little crazy, a little awed. “ _She has training_ , he says. I have superpowers, Tim. _Superpowers_. And she beat me!”

Tim shrugs, trying to control the grin threatening to bust out. “Or she’s just that good,” he suggests.

“No,” Kon shakes his head. “No way. No one is that good, Tim. She’s like...unreal.”

Tim stops, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. There’s something about the way Kon’s staring after Steph that’s pinging his _shit’s going down_ radar. He looks from Kon to Steph and back and then raises his eyebrows, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open slightly.

“Oh, no.”

Kon blinks back at him. “Oh, no, what?”

Tim shakes his head. “No, you are _not_ getting all weirdly turned on by my ex-girlfriend beating you at a game. Nope. Not happening.”

Kon’s eyes widen, expression comically affronted. “What? Dude, no! I am not getting all...what you said. No way!”

Tim stares in only-slightly-judgemental silence for a moment. Because he gets it, he gets that Steph’s sort of stupidly attractive when she’s kicking ass and taking names. It’s one of the first things he really liked about her, and it’s something he’s exceedingly familiar with. He’s just not entirely sure he’s prepared to witness his best friend discovering it for himself. And from the look on Kon’s face, he’s certainly taken notice.

Tim shakes his head, staring up at the sky. “This is what I get for trying to make you two get along,” he says mournfully.

Kon’s blushing now, waving his hands at Tim. “No, dude, shut up! I don’t like her!”

Tim just eyes him sideways as they finally start walking again. “When this devolves into weird antagonistic, competitive flirting, I’m going to hit you both upside the head and then say _I told you so_.”

  
  


An hour later, the fair is in full swing. Kon and Steph are in line for the Whirling Dervish; Tim can see them arguing good-naturedly about something, all waving hands and exaggerated expressions. He smiles, glad to see that they’ve stopped edging around each other with their hackles up. He’s sitting out this round, content to stand where he is, tucked away into a corner behind the funnel cake stand, watching the people streaming by and taking a few minutes to just stand still in the middle of the chaos.

He’s watching a group of small children go by, faces painted like animals, when he hears someone laugh across the way, bright and loud and familiar, somehow. Tim cranes his neck around, trying to see. There’s a group of younger teens in the way, standing around with their hands in their pockets and trying to pretend that they’re more bored than they actually are. Finally they shuffle to the side, the crowd parts, and Tim gets a good look at the laugher.

Jason’s grinning, mouth stretched wide across his cheeks. He’s crouched down next to a little girl wearing a pink tutu and a sparkly tiara; her mother stands next to them, curly hair bouncing in the breeze, the lights catching on her dangly earrings. She’s familiar, too, and it takes Tim a moment to realize where he’s seen her before: behind the welcome desk at the women’s shelter at the edge of New Town, across the street from Crime Alley proper.

She’s clearly friendly with Jason, given the way she’s letting him play with her daughter, making faces and talking earnestly with her. As Tim watches, Jason straightens up, reaching down to grasp the little girl’s hands. He pulls her up as she jumps, helping her bounce up into the air. The little girl shrieks with laughter, and Tim has to turn away, hiding the sudden flush to his cheeks, even though he knows Jason can’t see him.

When he turns back, the girl and her mother are walking away, waving to Jason over their shoulders. A moment later, Jason turns and is gone, too, disappeared back into the crowd.

A little thread of something like disappointment worms through Tim’s stomach, but before he can think about it at all, Steph’s at his side, arm thrown across his shoulders and chattering about what ride they should go on next, and she and Kon sweep him away again.

  
  


After that, Tim keeps catching glimpses of Jason everywhere; paying for popcorn, in line for the bumper cars, talking to the attendant at the beanbag toss. It’s like they’re circling each other, and it seems like every time Tim turns, Jason’s there on the periphery. He doesn’t seem to have seen Tim yet, always with his back turned or people between them or, once, Tim up on the ferris wheel with Kon on one side and Steph on the other, looking down and picking Jason out of the crowd by the way he moved.

He’s pretty sure Steph’s noticed the way his attention keeps skipping all over the place, but he flashes her a grin and buys her a giant cardboard container of candycorn, which seems to appease her. She loses half of it to throwing kernels at Kon, who manages to catch most of them in his mouth and dodges the rest while Tim looks on, grinning and shaking his head. The I told you so from before lingers on his tongue, but he bites it back, just happy that the two of them seem to genuinely be getting along.

  
  


Eventually, though, Kon says he has to leave; he needs to get back to the Tower, and while he can fly, it’s still a long way to go on his own. Steph looks regretful, but says that she also should get going; she’s got training with Babs the next day. Tim walks with them back towards the entrance, the three of them passing the last of Steph’s candycorn back and forth. They pause at the gates so Steph can give Tim a sudden, flying hug and Kon can reel him in for a bro-hug with an arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“You going home?” Steph asks when she steps back.

Tim shrugs, looking back over his shoulder at the fair. “I think I might stick around for a bit,” he says. “Might go on the Dragon again, see if there’s anyone else I know here. Ives or Bernard or somebody.” _Like maybe Jason_ , his brain says, helpfully; Tim tells his brain to shut up.

“Good,” Steph says, smiling. “Have some fun. Hang out for a bit. _Relax_.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tim says dryly.

Kon steps forward to scoop Tim up in another hug, this time wrapping both arms around him and squeezing a little. Tim grins into Kon’s shoulder and squeezes back; he always forgets how awesome Kon’s hugs are until he’s given one again.

“You should come on over to the Tower sometime,” Kon says as he lets Tim go. “Come hang out for a bit. We miss you over there.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tim says again, more sincerely this time. “Really.”

“You’d better,” Kon says, pointing a finger. He turns to Steph with a nod, “Batgirl.”

Steph raises an eyebrow, but nods back. “Superboy.”

Kon looks back at Tim with a wave, then takes a few steps back, grinning, and then, with a _whoosh_ and a spray of dust and gravel, he goes soaring off into the sky.

“Showoff,” Steph mutters, but it’s not nearly as heated as it could be, so Tim lets it go. Then she’s hugging him again, a brief, hard squeeze around his ribs, and then she’s gone, throwing a wave over her shoulder as she walks away.

Tim watches her for a moment, then tilts his head back to stare at the patch of sky where Kon disappeared. He smiles, shakes his head, and turns back to the fair.

  
  


The way things have been going all evening, he’s half-expecting to see Jason right there in front of him when he turns around. Instead, there’s just the crowd, walking and talking and laughing all around him.

With Steph and Kon, they’d spent most of their time running back and forth between various rides and whichever food stall was closest; Steph had tried to steer them back towards the games a few times, but Kon had protested, stating emphatically that his pride had already suffered one blow tonight, thanks, he didn’t need Steph to upstage him at absolutely everything all at once.

Now, with no one to contend with but himself, Tim decides to wander over to the arcade. He picks up a container of popcorn on his way and strolls idly, stopping here and there to watch kids and adults alike do their best to win prizes and show off.  The face-paint stall is still mobbed with kids even though it’s getting late, and he’s spotted more than one adult with a small smiley face or a star or some other design painted across their cheeks.

It’s kind of nice, actually , just being able to wander around by himself, just another person in the crowd, no panic, no mayhem, no one to punch or kick or arrest, no one trying to maim or kill him. It’s moments like this that he’s really made aware of exactly how much of his life is full of violence and bloodshed and getting hurt. It’s surreal, almost, how different things are tonight, Tim thinks, but it’s nice. Really, really nice.

  
  


He finally spots Jason again a few minutes later. He’s got his back turned to Tim, standing with his hands in his pockets as he surveys a water-gun game. Tim can’t see his face, but he can imagine all too well the way Jason’s eyes must be following the moving targets, calculating their exact motions, the exact moment when he’ll be able to hit each and every last one.

Tim’s moving before he realizes it, drifting over to stand just behind Jason’s right side. It’s testament to the noise and the chaos around them that Jason doesn’t appear to hear him come up, so Tim takes the opportunity to give into temptation and lean in closer, raising himself up on his toes to hook his chin just over Jason’s shoulder.

“You know, I think that’s considered cheating.”

Jason jumps slightly, head craning back and around to stare at him. He’s wide-eyed for a second, the lines of his face blank and tense for the brief moment before he recognizes Tim, and then he grins, taking a half-step back, turning to face him.

“How’s that, baby bird?” He laughs.

Tim shrugs. “All your fancy training, you know, gives you an unfair advantage.”

Jason smirks. “Is that so?”

“Totally unfair,” Tim says, nodding solemnly.

“Ah, well,” Jason sighs theatrically. “In that case, I suppose I’ll have to refrain from cheating these poor bastards of their stuffed-animal bounty.”

He reaches out with a grin and places one hand at the base of Tim’s neck, gripping lightly. Tim resists the slight shudder that threatens to run through his body at the contact. Jason’s hand is warm and huge, fingers brushing just barely against the side of his neck, Jason’s thumb resting just below his ear. It’s unbearable. Tim doesn’t want him to move.

“Since you’ve so moralistically deprived me of my entertainment,” Jason decides, steering Tim easily away from the booth and back towards the crowd, “I demand recompense.”

“Recompense,” Tim states, eyebrow raising. “And how exactly would you like me to pay you back?”

“Oooh, careful there, Timbo,” Jason laughs, smirking. “Best not to throw that kind of question around lightly. You never know what some people might ask for.”

He throws Tim a quick wink and then laughs again, grinning wide. Tim feels himself blushing hotly and looks away. It doesn’t matter; Jason can probably feel the way the back of Tim’s neck has gone hot.

“Shut up,” Tim shakes his head, biting back a smile. “You know what I meant.”

“Sure I do,” Jason says. There’s something strange in his voice, and when Tim turns to look at him again, Jason’s face is strangely unreadable. The next moment, though, he’s smiling again.

“Tell you what,” Jason says, swinging them both gently in the direction of a cluster of food carts. “I’m starving. You can buy me a hotdog and I’ll consider myself repaid for the loss of my fun. Fun in exchange for food. Yeah?”

Tim grins, rolling his eyes. “Fair enough.”

  
  


He ends up buying Jason two hotdogs, watching in mild horror as Jason loads them up with everything: mustard, ketchup, relish, onions. Jason reaches for the sauerkraut and Tim must make some sort of disgusted noise because Jason pulls back, turning to look at him. He turns back for a moment to regard the sauerkraut intently, then shrugs and appears to decide that he’s got enough on his hotdogs already and turns back to rejoin Tim.

“You are a heathen,” Tim states flatly, staring at the dripping, precariously-piled mess. “How are you not dead of a heart attack?”

Jason frowns down at his hotdogs for a moment, then shrugs unconcernedly. “Naturally awesome genetics? Also,” he says around a large bite of the first hotdog. “If you honestly think that I’m gonna live long enough for the food to kill me, you are being seriously optimistic.”

Tim frowns, suddenly tense, crossing his arms across his chest and looking away. “Don’t joke.”

Jason pauses, mouth full, and just stares at Tim for a long moment. Finally, he swallows noisily.

“What’s up? Why can’t I joke about that?”

Tim closes his eyes and shakes his head. He’s not even entirely certain himself why it bothers him so much. God only knows he’s joked about it himself, made black jokes about the likelihood that he’ll someday be killed by a knife or a bullet, that some thug will get the drop on him or he’ll take a bad fall and end up pancaked on the concrete. In his darker moments, he’s even made jokes about which supervillain will be the one to pull his plug.

They may not talk about it much, but they’re all of them aware, their whole little Bat family, that the things they do are more dangerous than anything else, throwing themselves in harm’s way over and over again, on purpose and congratulating themselves when they get away clean again.

And it’s not always clean. Tim’s broken bones, suffered fractures and sprains and lacerations, pulled muscles and strained tendons. He’s got scars to show for all the work he’s done, the things he’s done, and he’s not ashamed of them, but they are still a reminder that the life he’s chosen to live can be a deadly one.

And maybe that’s why it bothers him so much. Because they all know, statistically, that the chances of them all surviving to a ripe old age are practically zero. It’s just that, sometimes, Tim thinks that they’ve forgotten that one of them has already paid that price before.

He sighs, shaking his head again and looking back at Jason, who’s watching him with narrowed eyes, something like concern lurking in the lines of his frown.

“No, it’s—” Tim shakes his head again. “You can joke about it. It’s your life. I don’t know why I said that.”

“Alright,” Jason says, hesitant. “If you say so.”

“Just forget I said it, okay?” Tim asks, turning away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jason nod; he watches surreptitiously as Jason goes back to munching on his hotdogs. They continue walking again, this time in silence, and Tim’s relieved to find that the further they go, the further they appear to leave that awkward moment behind.

  
  


“Well, it’s not the place downtown,” Jason says finally, breaking what’s become a sort of oddly comfortable silence. “But it’s still pretty good.”

“What?” Tim blinks, confused.

“Hotdog stand, remember?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “Near Wayne Tower? Told you about it at the bowling alley. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh. Right.” Tim nods vaguely. “With the chili dogs.”

Tim hadn’t thought about that conversation since then, mostly because he’d been trying really hard not to think about it. Thinking about it made him feel strange, still caught in the sort of half-awe, half-confusion he’d felt at the time.

Jason smiles widely at him, like he’s pleased Tim remembered.

Jason finishes his hotdog a moment later and wanders away a bit to look for a trashcan but Tim stays where he is, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he watches the crowd going past. Part of him wishes he had his camera with him to record all of this, but another part of him likes the idea of hiding it away inside his head, of letting the memory of tonight linger in his head until next year when he can experience it all over again.

“You look like a little kid,” Jason says from right next to him, surprising him. “All starry-eyed and wonderstruck.”

Tim looks over, one eyebrow raised. “Really.”

Jason grins, holds up his hands. “No, no, really. It’s kind of cute.”

Tim ducks his head to try to hide his flush; this close, though, there’s no way Jason didn’t see it. He doesn’t say anything, though, which Tim is grateful for. He bites his lip against a smile and raises his head, looking away.

“It’s been years since I was here,” Tim admits, shoving his hands in his pockets. “My parents never really let me go to things like this when I was little. And then once I was old enough to go out my myself, there were always other things to do.”

“So what _did_ you do?” Jason asks, curious.

Tim shrugs. “Movies, sometimes, with my friends from school. Hung out, you know, read comic books, played video games. Occasionally stalked Batman and Robin,” he smirks.

Jason snorts, shaking his head. “You’ve got weird hobbies, baby bird.”

“Says the guy who tire-jacked the Batmobile,” Tim snarks back. He tries to tell himself that he’s smiling because it’s funny, not because of the way Jason throws his head back and laughs, long and loud, the sound carrying above the sound of the crowd.

“What about with your parents?” Jason says finally, looking over at Tim curiously.

Tim can feel his jaw clench, just slightly, and knows there’s no chance Jason missed that, watching Tim the way he is. Tim’s managed to train himself out of most of his old tells, but this is one he’s not certain he’ll ever be completely rid of, the old impulse to grit his teeth and bear it when dealing with his parents, burying the old pains of being left alone under the knowledge that he has other people now, that he can look after himself. Maybe someday the hollow twist to his stomach will go away, but it’s not today.

“My parents weren’t around much,” Tim says flatly, without looking at Jason. “When they were, we didn’t really spend any time together. Mostly just stuff like parties and fancy dinners where they needed to make an appearance, introduce me to my ‘peers’, other rich kids they hoped I’d be friends with or whatever.”

“Playing the little rich boy,” Jason says quietly, and there’s something in his voice, something soft and a little sad, that makes Tim turn to look at him.

There’s something like pain in the lines of Jason’s frown, a hint of concern; there’s genuine hurt in his expression, sadness on Tim’s behalf, for the Tim whose parents had left him alone so often, and it makes something in Tim’s chest twist sharply.

“You hated it, didn’t you.” It’s not a question, not really, and it’s clear from his expression that Jason already knows the answer.

Tim takes a breath, exhales is slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I really did.”

Jason’s quiet at that, still watching Tim with that same hurt expression, but giving Tim his space for the moment. Tim is perhaps more grateful for it than he thinks he should be. People tend to assume he had a great childhood, growing up all rich and fanciful; he’s not used to them looking any closer, asking questions about what it was really like.

It’s unsettling, sort of, the way Jason seems to see him so clearly. They barely know each other, but every time Tim talks to him, he can’t shake the weird feeling like they’ve know each other for years, like they knew each other once and then just forgot and now they’re remembering each other all over again. There are times when Jason’s still a stranger, unpredictable and random, but then there are times like this when he feels more like an old friend.

“Kinda wish I’d been there,” Jason says, finally, breaking Tim out of his thoughts. “Bruce never let me come along to society things,” he explains with a shrug. “I think he thought I’d be bored out of my skull and end up setting the drapery on fire or something.”

Tim laughs, short and sudden, but he can’t help the mental image of Jason as Tim had first known him, younger and smiling, against the backdrop of dark wood and heavy curtains that Tim had been so familiar with as a child. Tim’s brain helpfully supplies one of the suits his mother had forced him to wear when he was younger, with Jason stuffed into it; the petulant expression he imagines on his face, though, is all this Jason, Jason as he is now, standing in front of Tim.

“Probably would have been more fun,” Tim admits, smiling. It feels a bit like confessing a secret, somehow, that he would have liked to have had Jason around before now.

“Well, then,” Jason says, eyebrows raised, grinning bright and cocky. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m here now, isn’t it?”

  
  


It’s nearly midnight when they start, by unspoken mutual agreement, to wind their way back towards the entrance gate. The crowd has thinned a lot, the little kids all gone home with their parents, but there are still clusters of teenagers here and there, other adults still milling around, mostly near the food and the stages, but there are still people on the rides, too, cheering and yelling.

When they pass the funnel cake stand, Jason tugs him over with a hand on his wrist, fingers wrapped all the way around Tim’s bones for a long moment that makes him shiver slightly before Jason lets go of him. Jason orders a large funnel cake, face lighting up as he watches the man behind the counter pour the batter.

“You don’t mind sharing, do you, baby bird?” he asks over his shoulder. Tim can only shake his head.

They find an empty picnic table nearby, lopsided on uneven ground, and sit across from each other on the sturdier end, forks in hand, eating in comfortable silence, occasionally battling for a particularly good piece of the cake. Between the two of them, the cake doesn’t stand a chance, and before long all that’s left are a few crumbs and smeared dusting of powdered sugar.

“Nothing like grease and sugar to end a good night,” Jason sighs happily, attempting to pick up the tiny crumbs with his fingers.

Tim shakes his head, grinning. “You and your junk food.”

“Hey, I like what I like,” Jason says, licking at his fingers. “And if I like it, why the hell shouldn’t I indulge myself?”

Tim stares for a moment, gaze caught on the way Jason’s pressing his wet fingers to the paper plate, swiping up the last bits of powdered sugar. He brings his fingers back to his mouth, sucking the sugar away with a happy-sounding hum. There’s a smudge of powdered sugar at the corner of Jason’s bottom lip; Tim stares at it for a second before Jason’s tongue peeks out and licks it away again. Tim blinks hard, once, and swallows.

_Well_ , his brain says, sounding stumped even inside his head. _That’s new. Alright then._

“Can’t argue with that,” Tim says, pleased when his voice comes out sounding normal. If he’s maybe talking to himself, too, well, that’s nothing Jason has to know.

  
  


Tim throws the plate away, ignoring the way Jason reaches for it again, trying in vain to swipe away every last little bit of sugar, and they continue on towards the gate. They linger when they reach it, leaning back against the chain-link fence and staring out at the fair, mostly-empty now. The lights are still on, but Tim can see ride attendants beginning to shut things down.

“This was a good night,” Tim hears himself say.

Beside him, Jason nods, smiling slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

Tim’s got nothing more to say after that; neither does Jason, it would seem, because they both shoulder themselves off the wall after that, walking the last few feet to the gate, shoulders bumping with every step. They walk the few blocks from the gate in comfortable silence. Tim darts glances at Jason every now and then; the small smile that’s been on his face since they got the funnel cake is still there. Tim can’t quite look away from it.

They stop again at the corner where New Town begins; Tim’s going left towards the brownstone he lives in on the north end of the neighborhood, while Jason cuts straight through on his way to his apartment in the heart of Crime Alley. They’re standing close, enough that Tim’s shoulder brushes against Jason’s arm every time either of them shifts.

Standing under the yellow haze of the streetlight, Jason looks huge, carved from stone, all bulk and angles and shadow. He looks untouchable, more like the myth he’s become, the shape in the darkness who comes down like fury on those in this city who don’t play by his rules. They’re close enough that Tim has to tilt his head and look up to meet Jason’s eyes. He’s not a small guy by any means, maybe a bit on the short side, but he's not honestly _that_ small; next to Jason, though, he feels practically tiny, and it makes something thrill deep in his stomach, a tiny shiver running up his spine.

Tim’s fingers ache, suddenly, to reach out him, to drag him out of that light and back down onto the pavement he’s standing on, real and close and touchable. He balls his hands into fists inside his pockets instead.

“Guess this is where we split,” Jason says, and Tim has to blink against the sudden memory of Jason saying those words before, weeks ago on a rooftop on the edge of the upper east side, the first night they talked. It’s the night Tim thinks they became something like friends, or at least allies, no longer enemies clawing at each other’s throats.

There are things he wants to say, wants to ask if Jason wants to come over for coffee, or go see a movie sometime; he wants to ask if Jason’s as glad to have run into him as he is to have run into Jason. But if there’s any pattern developing in their interactions, it’s that Tim can never figure out how to say the things he really wants to say, the words tangling on his tongue and catching behind his teeth before he swallows them back down again.

Instead, he says, “See you around,” and then winces internally at how lame it sounds.

“Likewise, Timbo,” Jason says around a smile, taking a step backward and raising his hand in a wave. “Sleep well, baby bird.”

And then he turns, spins on his heel and saunters off, swallowed up by shadow. Tim stares after him for a long while, long after Jason has disappeared entirely. Finally, he turns, throwing one last look over his shoulder, letting his smile go soft and fond even though Jason’s too far away now to see it.

“Goodnight, Jason.”

 


End file.
